


When Held Together

by Pyrasaur



Category: Wreck-It Ralph (2012)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Developing Relationship, Frottage, Intimacy, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-23
Updated: 2013-09-23
Packaged: 2017-12-27 10:24:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/977653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pyrasaur/pseuds/Pyrasaur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No matter how strong he is, a man needs something to restore him. Zangief has thought this about Wreck-it Ralph for a long time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Held Together

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a companion and sort-of-sequel to [Clinch Nearly](http://archiveofourown.org/works/798777).

     Everyone knew he was alone, the mighty wrecking man from the fixing game. Zangief nearly admired that but ultimately, he could not. It was not a state to be admired. Because a man could be alone and strong for a day, for one challenge, for a trip away and back — but no man could hold back the world forever. Not without something to restore him.

     On the thirtieth anniversary of the fixing game, Zangief got to speak to this Wreck-It Ralph. Truly speak to the man who looked strong and exhausted, hunched on a folding chair too small for him. And it seemed like he did not hear that day — tired as he was, too tired to understand. But Ralph did hear. Just not in that same moment fellow bad guys were speaking. He accepted his badness. He found friends and he found reasons to smile. With further time, Ralph spoke with Zangief outside Bad-Anon meetings, still with such honesty in his eyes. Zangief put gentle hands on him until he did not flinch with surprise anymore.

     There were new things to show him — yes, many things but be patient, Zangief. They visited each others' games, picking Street Fighter as the more comfortable one without saying it in such frank words. They sparred, more like play than real fighting. One day, afterward, Zangief offered Ralph the use of his bathroom — for sauna, maybe, or hot bath? Such a basic part of the day and yet Ralph lit up like Zangief had offered him a kingdom. 

      _I_ fit _in your tub_ , Ralph said afterward with embarrassed delight. He was too large for everything in his own game; Wreck-It Ralph was programmed this way. But in a game made for imposing fighters, he managed to fit. Here he stood, ruffling his damp spines of hair with a towel and holding another towel around his waist, its edges barely meeting. A modest man, Ralph was — but he smiled as he showed his strong, smooth chest and an enticing glimpse between the towel's edges. A spicy scent hung in the humid air — Zangief's hair conditioner, and the intoxicating knowledge that Ralph had marked himself with it.  
     Not just yet, the siren voice of good sense told Zangief. True, they kissed like lovers might. They grappled and sometimes their hands wandered, searching, stroking. Ralph still flinched at each new step taken but his cornered-animal nerves faded a little each day. Let him relax more. Then victory would be assured.

 

     More weeks came and went. A few rounds at Tapper's. More times gripping and throwing one another on the training mats. More Bad-Anon meetings speaking about things they had already told each other in quieter confidence. 

     Today, their sparring match had been nearly regulation. Hardly any stolen touches until the end — until Ralph pinned Zangief down with one mountainous hand on his chest, kissing him fierce enough to steal his breath. And then, like the match bell rang in a pitch only Ralph could hear, he pulled back from Zangief and smiled his boyish smile. He said _well, uh. Guess I'll go wash up._  
     Subtle like a piledriver, he was. But Zangief was getting tired of subtlety, himself. He grinned only half as broad as he wished to and said of course. Ralph could take as long as he wished; Zangief could be patient a few minutes longer.

 

     With hunger in his belly, he towelled off and he waited. Unlaced his boots, and replaced his briefs with a wrapped and tucked towel, and he waited more. Give Ralph a moment and then take up his challenge. This was a good plan. Zangief wished he could take credit for all of it. 

     The bathroom still looked small to Zangief even after years of use, with the steam room separate as it was. But the frosted glass window let in enough light to make it welcoming, and if Ralph was comfortable here then the space had to be enough. His shirt and overalls lay folded in a square pile, and Ralph himself filled the in-floor bathtub — rising out of the water as Zangief entered, water sloshing like music. Wild hair slicked wet against his head, tamed. A thin jet of water shot from between his teeth. He hummed once, a laugh held in his throat, as he leaned back and laid mighty arms along the tub's edge, shoulders flexing. And then Ralph looked finally over his shoulder, noticing Zangief — with a widening of his eyes, and a great many thoughts on his face.  
     "You are having fun, my friend?"  
     "Ah, well … I finally found a use for this hole in my smile?" He showed a sliver of that smile. "Doesn't seem very productive, so, yeah. I think I'll file it under fun."  
     Such simple things giving him joy. Zangief went to him, bare feet whispering against the tile. "I have something else you might like."  
     Ralph darted his eyes, surely catching the brilliant white of Zangief's towel. He shifted one massive hand into his lap — modest still — and he ventured, "Yeah …?"

     Saying nothing, Zangief came close and knelt. The towel loosened as he moved and this was fine; it had served its purpose. He laid both hands on Ralph's water-speckled shoulders, on the contours of muscle twisting where Ralph still attempted to look at him. Ralph might have flinched at this touch — but such small motion was lost in the anticipation thrumming through his body.  
     "In homeland," Zangief told him, rubbing both thumbs firm up his neck, "there is always massage with hot bath."  
     Traditional massages were not quite like this, true — but Zangief had never been above changing a custom to improve it. Who fought entire packs of bears? No one but Zangief.  
     "Hmm." Ralph turned away, another silent invitation. He was already ravelling under Zangief's hands, his broad shoulders relaxing like loosening rope. "Your homeland sounds like a real friendly place."  
     "Host must be friendly to his guest." He stretched for the conditioner bottle, and he squeezed a fragrant dollop into his palm.  
     "Heh, yeah, well … I don't think I'd stay anywhere but with you."  
     In the quiet after his comment, Ralph turned his head, trying again to catch a glimpse of Zangief. Oh, he did not need to worry: there would be more than enough hospitality. No one else would know the contours of his damp skin. This was a fine example of a man, this Wreck-It Ralph, coded large and sturdy enough to hide his soft heart.  
     "I am happy to hear this, Ralph." He let the hunger slip into his voice, as he combed slicked fingers into Ralph's wet tendrils of hair. "Is my pleasure to look after you."  
     "Again with the innuendo," Ralph muttered breathless.  
     But he had no more complaints as Zangief's fingers raked farther and back through his hair, working slippery conditioner through. This was a place he liked stroked, and never had Zangief enjoyed it more than now, while drinking in the sight of Ralph's nakedness and the scent they now shared. 

     And Ralph gasped as Zangief latched a kiss onto his neck. Usually, he tasted like sweat and earth, the powerful odour of a working man — but today he was a tang of soap and then a clean essence of Ralph himself.  
     "You were teasing earlier," Zangief said, mumbled against skin.  
     "I-I guess. Kind of."  
     "Hoping for this to happen?"  
     Ralph writhed at the kisses on his throat, at the fingers curling nails against his scalp. "I figured you'd wait until after, when I had just the towel on. You always look at me like— Like you're gonna …"  
     "Is miracle that I could resist."  
     He ran a hand over Ralph's shoulder and down, over the wet-slick plane of his chest. Ralph moved with each quickening breath, his heartbeat like roused thunder. Imagine being the first person teased unsubtlely by this man — probably the first. Zangief had not pried deep enough to be sure but he liked this golden thought, this victor's prize.  
     "Move that hand," he purred. "Let Zangief see."  
     Ralph shifted instantly, lifting his hand back onto the tub rim. 

     That motion was a small thing to take joy in. He had tried once before to pleasure Ralph — not just apply friction, but truly pleasure him. He had barely made acquaintance with this handsome piece of manhood before Ralph shied away. Too used to being alone. None of that today. 

     No, today they would both be victorious, Zangief thought with a wolf's grin. Ralph sat tall in more ways than one; he peered again toward Zangief as if to ask _like this?_  
     "Mmm," Zangief answered, and tipped his head. Just enough to brush his beard over Ralph's throat and rake another shudder out of him. And as he took in the unhurried view, he laid another hard kiss where throat and shoulder met—  
     "Zan," Ralph blurted. He shifted, restless. "Hey, we're not gonna dance around it all night, are we?"  
     Maybe he was not so hesitant after all. This was a shock but a most welcome one. Zangief let out his grin, running his hands down over Ralph's pectorals; at a certain point, the wrecking man was raw power under just a little yielding fat. It was distinct and pleasing as he asked, "You want more, Ralph?"  
     "Yeah." It was whispered but sure.  
     "You will have."  
     Have what Zangief had silently promised him each time he had knitted his fingers into thick red hair and imagined the sight of it in his lap. Right now in this bathtub, what did Zangief wish to do to this relaxed, wound-tight man? Everything. 

     He stood, tugging off his towel that sagged loose anyway. Slipped into the tub with Ralph, into sloshing warm water that touched the tub rim now that two big men were sharing. And for the long seconds he slid in, Ralph stared without shame — just with a bright red flush on his face. They fit here, in one soothing place where the water was body-warm and soap bubbles clung to the planes of Ralph's chest.  
     Zangief advanced slow enough for the water to part, until their chests met through the liquid void. Until he pulled himself close to Ralph's large body, palmed his lower back and drew them together, and felt Ralph shiver as their manhoods brushed.  
     "Better?"  
     Ralph gulped, mostly meeting Zangief's eyes. "Y-Yeah."He sucked in a stiff breath and hovered one hand behind Zangief, its tented presence raising Zangief's hair with anticipation.  
     "Is alright ...?"  
     "I … _Aah._ I think it's gonna be, I just—" Touch alighted Zangief's back, gentle as snowflakes; Ralph met his eyes with nothing hidden. "Y'know … I don't really have a clue how this works."  
     "Not knowing is natural part of learning process."  
     He frowned lightly, eyebrows working. "Yeah, it must be, huh? And this rubbing thing," and Ralph opened his other hand, a gesture anyone else would use a whole arm for, "it's not much different from we go at it while we're sparring, huh?"  
     "It … does not have to be." Zangief hoped to move well beyond that simple rubbing through clothing — but he had to admit that the goal was basically the same. Getting past the first-time nerves to where good things began. A second passed, packed tight with decision and the feel of Ralph's skin. Then Zangief shifted back, kneeling. "Here. Zangief will show you. Lie back and take easy."  
     His glance at the bathtub surroundings said _I'm taking it as easy as I can, geez _. But the teasing evaporated in the heat. The smile he gave Zangief turned youthful again. "Okay. I trust you."__

__What a shock to hear, even when Zangief grew sure of which word Ralph had placed between _I_ and _you_. How real it made all of this, the freely shared expanse of his back, the taste of his throat. All the times Ralph had glowed satisfied with Zangief's hands on him. Very much worth the wait._ _

 So he laid a kiss between Ralph's hard pectorals, and another one inches lower. "In this case … I have gift for you, Ralph."  
     He watched with lidded eyes, "You do?"  
     Zangief pushed back from him, burning at the loss of contact as he pulled the tub stopper. "Like housewarming gift."  
     "In your house?"  
     Zangief shrugged. "These are just details. Important part," and he reached again for the conditioner bottle, "is that you enjoy."  
     In the loud silence, with water gurgling lower around them, Zangief slicked his hands well and Ralph watched, his lips parting unnoticed. Maybe he thought spoken innuendo was too much, but the sliding of Zangief's curled fingers making long motions — this he seemed to like. Zangief nudged the tub stopper back in, saving a few inches of warm water — not enough to get in his way. Slow and deliberate, he then wrapped both hands around Ralph. Around his unabashed manhood while he gasped a halting note and his hands squirmed to grip the tub's edge sixty different ways.  
     He was shaped the same here as anywhere: thick and weighty, a challenge to encircle. Zangief stroked with leisure. Savoured the weight and girth of him and the greased ease of touching. Leaned in to press his mouth to Ralph's hip and felt the flinch in his abdominal muscles, and ran both hands outward to map his thighs. What beautiful nonsense Ralph's reaction was, flinching back and parting his legs inches wider for more. 

__Then came a crunching sound from the edge of the tub._ _

   "Aww, geez," Ralph said, "Sorry."  
     Zangief stared for a moment at the dented ceramic, spidered with cracks. "Strong hands, you have, Ralph."  
     He grinned sheepish. "I thought bathtubs could take more than that …"  
     "Is only porcelain. Weak and brittle material. I will tell you what can handle your raw power." He grinned dark as he said, "Zangief can."  
     Nothing heated his blood like a challenge. But Ralph maybe disagreed. Biting his lower lip, gaze restless with thought, Ralph curled one fist tight. And he settled as he decided, bringing the other massive hand to tent Zangief's back. Fingers brushed broad across Zangief's shoulders — so careful with those wrecking hands — and traced his largest scar from beginning to end.  
     Don't be impatient, Zangief reminded himself. This day was about simply winning. With touch marking familiar paths on his back, he replaced his hands on slicked thighs and watched Ralph's clenched knuckles go white.  
     "We can talk about that later, yes?"  
     Ralph hummed answer. After a shifting movement by Zangief's shoulder — his square fingers circling each other, fidgeting — before his touch formed again to Zangief's shoulder and cupped his neck. This was invitation to bend forward.  
      _Finally._ Planting more kisses down Ralph's belly, relishing each squirm, Zangief reached the thick base of his manhood and knew the pungent taste of that spicy conditioner he suddenly resented. A few handfuls of water washed it away — hurried at first, like Zangief's pulse. But the way Ralph's breath hitched at the splash made him pause. What a simple joy. Water on his skin with someone he trusted.  
     "Wh-What?" Ralph asked. Flushed and bare and watching, awaiting more.  
     Zangief only smiled, and held their eye contact as he took Ralph into his mouth. 

     He could not manage all or even most of that length, not even as he willed his mouth to give way, as he sucked Ralph slippery again. It was worth the effort, seeing the dinner plates Ralph's eyes became, feeling the taut-strung awareness through his bulk. Hearing the _ah_ cries escaping him, while his unclenched hand returned to Zangief's back as a bobbing rhythm was born. As Zangief got to know him with blind-searching hands, that solid base of his member and his weighty sack underneath and the angle his spread thighs made. Then large touch nudged Zangief's jaw, the ginger movement of Ralph's thumb as he mustered a thought.  
     "Zan," Ralph said, breathless and calm. "I— I hate to interrupt you, actually. Because … _wow_."  
     "You have idea, yes?"  
     He did, Ralph said with his smile, his eyes dark with want. His tight-balled fist unfurled. "C'mere," he said, and beckoned upward with a slightest bend of his fingers. 

     He was clever when he wished to be; that never failed to fill Zangief up warm. He straightened up, there on his knees in the water, and with one effortless motion Ralph pulled him close. Zangief's chest hair a pillow between them, their skin touching, their manhoods meeting. Still a simple but earth-shaking step, like the first time Zangief kissed Ralph and found him shy but bubbling with passion. Maybe Ralph thought the same as he shifted the two of them, breathtaking friction and changing balance. Zangief's hands found the porcelain at Ralph's sides — so Ralph's every rapid breath was caged between his arms.  
     "This is the part I really like," Ralph said, his voice resounding through Zangief like a whispered thunderclap. "When we're close like this."  
     "Intense?"  
     "Yeah."  
     Rolling his hips once so they ground together, Zangief watched the flickering of reactions on Ralph's honest face. "Good intense?"  
     Blanketing touch was his answer, fingertips covering his back and stroking the round of his buttocks. "Mmm," Ralph said.  
     "Wait. One moment." It took a long-seeming moment to stretch free of Ralph's embrace, grab the conditioner and fill his palm. But it was worthwhile as he worked that hand between them and stroked Ralph again. Stroked himself with decadent lubricant, too, and the two of them together as much as his hand could span. "Now try," he husked, with a flex of his hips that slid them deliciously together.  
     "Oh, even better. That. _Ah._ " Ralph shifted under him, a seismic motion.  
     "Is alright," Zangief told him. "Enjoy."  
     He began a rhythm, began letting go himself. With another shift, Ralph bent nearer and they kissed suddenly, open-mouthed and generous. Like mirroring their more intimate movement. Ralph's grip constricted; their pace built.  
     "Not squeezing too tight," Ralph asked, "am I?"  
     He nearly was. Zangief's fighting code droned in the pit of his gut, saying _escape, break loose_. But there was no mistaking who held him pinned, square muscle all around and a massive palm at his back, belly shifting with each thrust they made against each other. There was a tenderness here that could only be Ralph, who watched Zangief with hooded eyes and hurried to wet his lips with a flick of tongue.  
     "No. Not too tight," Zangief said — and hissed as Ralph's other hand wrapped his legs, thumbtip considering the cleft of his ass. There would be far more firsts in their future and that truth fed Zangief's hunger now. "This exactly what I want. As hard as you can give it to me."  
     He gaped — but made another string of needful sounds as Zangief shifted angle. Ralph's hand around his buttocks pressed more insistent and the rough-sliding contact between them seemed to shine, like sunlight on snow. 

     It couldn't go on long, not climbing this fast. Zangief's world narrowed to crushing grip and rhythmic motion, and the sudden pitch of Ralph's cry. His fighter's code still howled and great enough to smother that sound was the whiteout storm of his love.

     As sense returned to him, he found his line of sight resting on Ralph's pursed lips and strong chin. Drawn by the things in his still-hammering heart, he put a hand to Ralph's cheek, caressing with the arc of his thumb.  
     "Ah, Ralph …"  
     Catching his breath, full of his own racing blood, Ralph sighed his answer and accepted the stroking. The touch Zangief moved up into his hairline. Which did not look dry yet — and Zangief recalled the reason as soon as he touched it.  
     "This conditioner," he said, running fingers through Ralph's hair to change its spiny patterns, "it should be washed out after so long sitting. You will have beautiful hair today, Ralph. Make women jealous."  
     Ralph grinned uneven. "Is that how you get your chest hair all soft and shiny? 'Cause I was sorta surprised it wasn't, y'know. _Scratchy._ When we, uh, first started foolin' around."  
     "Yes, it is Zangief's secret. And you must never share this most valuable information."  
     "Cross my wires, hope to fry," Ralph swore. He beamed so the gap in his teeth showed. But his gaze flicked down to their tight-pressed chests, and back up. And he said, "Thanks."  
     "Conditioner is not actually biggest secret I have," Zangief said, laughing. With his arms worked loose and looped around Ralph's neck, he pulled Ralph near enough to kiss, warm like before.  
     "No," Ralph hurried to say when his mouth was freed, "I mean for everything. Sure, I've gotta go wreck the building in the morning and I'm gonna get covered in mud all over again. But this is … It's really nice. Especially tonight! But there's just always … somethin' about being with you. You know what I mean, right?"  
     "Do not worry, Ralph. I know this thing very well." 

    They ran water for cleaning off with. Zangief got to watch Ralph dry off afterward, with a towel that looked more like a washcloth against his bulk. Wrapping that towel around his hips was unnecessary but still, Ralph was a modest man.  
     "Is true what I have always said," Zangief noted, leaning on an unbroken section of the bathtub's rim. "Good fight, hot bath and massage. Best way to restore strength."  
     "Yeah! I think could take on the world." Picking up his ragged plaid shirt, Ralph added, "After puttin' some clothes on, I mean."  
     "I do not think that is necessary."  
     Despite his attempt not to, Ralph smiled. 

   _See you later_ , Ralph told Zangief, as he left for his own game. Leaving unaccompanied — but not alone. 


End file.
